The Aftereffects of Alcohol
by accio.awesomeness
Summary: In order to prove her courage, Hermione's one sip of Firewhiskey turns into something like one bottle. As she stumbles back to the Heads' Tower, who does she run into but the Head Boy? Fluff, oneshot.


**Plot bunny that popped into my head out of the blue! And I just _had_ to write it. **

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine!**

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><p>"Loosen up, Granger. Have some Firewhiskey."<p>

Hermione Granger peered distrustfully up at the men surrounding her through a thick layer of lashes. Seamus stood above her, a bottle in his outstretched hand. Hermione knew without looking that the bottle had the words "Odgen's Old" over it and a most fiery, tantalising scent wafted into her nostrils from the open top.

Seamus surveyed her face. Whatever he found there, it seemed to disappoint him; he turned and waved the bottle at the group of boys and girls who surrounded her. "She hasn't got the guts to drink it, mates. More for us, eh?"

Her face flamed red in indignation. "Excuse me?" she said coldly, in a voice that carried over the whoops of her friends. Seamus turned around slowly, bottle still in hand.

"We all know you've got your Head Girl-ship to worry about, Granger. If you're too chicken to risk it, we'll go ahead." So saying, he lifted the bottle to his lips – oh, those _lips_ that she dreamed about when she was bored in class – and took a hearty swig, gasping as the fiery liquor seared down his throat.

Hermione's eyes narrowed, and her big brain went into overdrive, considering her options.

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><p>Ms Granger, 7th year Gryffindor, Head Girl, top of the class in every subject (except Defence, and therein lay her pet peeve). Her name was known to all Hogwarts students and teachers alike; indeed, she was almost as well-known as Harry Potter.<p>

Despite all this, it seemed karma was intent on biting her arse as hard as possible, for she was having a bad day.

A _very_ bad day.

First came the Potions incident. The book _said _ to add the unicorn horn bit by bit, but Harry'd just _had_ to go and knock her arm as he reached for the leech juice. Thanks, Harry. The potion had exploded, of course, and for the first time in her life, she received a zero for the day's work.

After that was DADA, in which Neville Longbottom (of _all_ people) mastered a spell faster than she could. Never one to begrudge others their success, she'd clapped Neville on the back and congratulated him like everyone else. She managed the spell in the end, but only through pure aggravation, and _that_, she knew, was not the way to go about casting a spell. If Potions had been a sign of what was to come, the disastrous Defence lesson confirmed it: she was in for a terrible day.

Herbology got her bitten by the Venomous Tentacula – she'd been so distracted by her Mandrake that she hadn't noticed it creeping up on her. She was sent to the Hospital Wing by a frantic Professor Sprout, who was shocked that the usually harmless Tentacula (it usually just grabbed people) had actually dared to bite a student.

She was released by Madame Pomfrey just in time for lunch, where she discovered that almost all the food on the table contained oranges, a fruit she was mildly allergic to. The dishes _sans_ orange were not to her liking. Making her excuses, she'd run off to the kitchen and asked for food without oranges, to which the House Elves had regretfully told her that they had received a double order of oranges by accident and were using them in every food they could.

Needless to say, she went hungry.

After lunch came a free period, but as opposed to the relaxing half-hours she was accustomed to, she suddenly realised that she had forgotten to do her Ancient Runes essay. Scrambling in her bag for a quill, she scrawled down what passed for a 13-inch essay and rolled the parchment up without thinking. When she reached her class, a nasty chock awaited her: the ink had smudged and run off in every direction, the lines were blurred and there was absolutely no way to retrieve what once had been a passable essay.

At this point, Hermione had simply tuned out. Her day was obviously going to get worse, so she had gone about the rest of it with a detached, emotionless air that concerned Harry and scared Ron. He walked on eggshells around her until she snapped at him that he hadn't done anything wrong and he needn't tiptoe around her in such a way. Cowering, Ron shrank back. He had been especially pliable in her hands after their nasty break-up at the beginning of the school year.

To top it off, an evening Quidditch match (Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff) was lost, and the Gryffindor seventh years stayed awake long past midnight, waiting till the younger students had retired for the night before bringing out the alcohol.

As Seamus mocked her Gryffindor courage, several different courses of action occurred to her. One, she could remind them that walking back to the Heads' Tower would not be made easy if she were drunk. Two, she could kick Sea in the balls and run away. Or three, she could just shut up and drink the alcohol. She needed to drown her sorrows anyway.

She stood menacingly, and came closer to Seamus, who watched her warily but did not move backwards. Slipping the heavy glass bottle from his hands, she put it to her lips, watching his eyes widen to saucers. Tipping it back, she glugged down a few mouthfuls without blinking an eye and handed it back to him, already starting to feel a little dizzy. While she could handle the burn, she couldn't really handle the alcohol.

Finally, Sea broke the silence. "Well done, Hermione. Care for another swig?"

She glowered at him briefly, digging in her pocket for the enchanted parchment that had just warmed in her pocket. "In a minute." Sea shrugged, passing the bottle around. Hermione unfolded the parchment, seeing the words from her partner-in… erm, discipline appearing in green ink.

_Granger, where are you? It's almost curfew and it wouldn't do you any good to be caught walking back any later than this._

In an odd way, she supposed she should be grateful that he even bothered, but her thoughts were in turmoil after the bottle was passed to her a second time, and she simply scrawled back, "_I'll get back somehow, Malfoy. Don't worry your ferret head about it."_

All the same, she couldn't help feeling a little tingle in her belly at the thought of Malfoy and his silver eyes. Living in close quarters with the handsome Slytherin had shown her a whole new side of him – and she was sure that that was not a good thing. She tried to cover her feelings up by being extra snarky, but she sometimes caught a look in his eyes that suggested that he knew _exactly_ what she was feeling and – dare she hope it? – felt something of the sort himself.

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><p>Three hours and another five bottles of Firewhiskey later, Hermione couldn't even stand properly. Her speech was slurred and her breath reeked of Firewhiskey. A tiny part of her rational mind was still conscious, however, and it prodded her into action. Making her way shakily to her feet and then to the door, she bid her semi-conscious house-mates <em>adieu<em> and stumbled out of the portrait hole, earning a sharp _tsk!_ of disapproval from the Fat Lady.

Luckily for Hermione, the Heads' Tower wasn't too far away – that is to say, it was on the same floor. She made her way as quietly as she could (which, in her drunken state wasn't too quiet) and slowly staggered through the dark corridors to the opposite side of the seventh floor.

Unfortunately, she collapsed halfway there.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your point of view), a concerned Head Boy was out looking for the Head Girl at that moment, and tripped over her prone form as he made his way to Gryffindor Tower. A small _oof_ came out of his mouth; a substantially larger one from Hermione's, who'd had the breath knocked out of her lungs by the sudden eighty-plus kilos landing on top of her. Groaning, Draco rolled off her, wrinkling his nose at the rank taste of alcohol on her breath. As she opened her eyes slowly, Draco backed away in alarm. He'd seen plenty of drunkards in his life, and he knew she was about to –

She threw up.

If the liquor had been fiery going in, it was twice as bad going out. She coughed and retched, hacking what felt like everything in her stomach (not much) plus a couple of layers of body tissue up onto the floor. Sighing, Draco waited until she was done before vanishing the pool of vomit with a lazy flick of his wand and cleaning Granger's mouth with another.

"Can you stand, Granger?" he drawled. Grasping the wall for balance, the girl rose to her feet. He surveyed her doubtfully. "Can you walk, Granger?"

She tried, and failed. Falling face first onto the marble floor, she groaned for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. Draco sighed, again. Crouching, he lifted Granger's arm around his waist and helped her to her feet, moving at snail's pace all along the corridor.

"Flatulence," he told the portrait of Nicholas Flamel. The man beamed at him.

"Indeed, my boy!" he said cheerily, and swung open.

Draco lowered Hermione to the sofa and was about to turn and leave when a hand wrapped around his wrist.

There she was, looking up at him with such big eyes. He was loathe to admit it, but he really did like those eyes.

"What, Granger?" he sighed, sinking into a crouch beside her head.

"I'll tell you a secret," she whispered. He rolled his eyes and leaned forward, anticipating whatever she wanted to tell him.

"I can't get to sleep without my blanket," she admitted. Draco rolled his eyes again and made to stand up.

"I'll fetch it for you, then." Not in the mood to walk upstairs and back, he summoned the blanket from her room, spreading it out over her. He made to leave again, but was once more halted by a hand on his wrist. Absently, he noticed that her skin was very soft.

"Draco," she said.

"Yes?"

"I'm sleepy."

"Go to sleep, then."

"I will."

Shaking his head, he stood, thinking about what a miracle it was that she'd actually used his first name. However, he was yanked back down yet _again_ by the devious female.

"Draco," she murmured.

"Yes?"

"I don't like cabbage. And I'm allergic to oranges. I had to miss lunch today," she sighed, a small pout tweaking the corners of her lips.

"Oh dear," Draco replied, trying his utmost to sound sympathetic.

"Draco?"

"What?"

"You can go now," she said. Seeing no point in arguing with a drunkard, he rose to his feet and strode towards the stairs.

Her small voice stopped him just as he reached the foot of the staircase.

"Draco?"

"Yeah?"

"I kinda like you," she slurred. He froze. Had he heard right?

"Say that again, Hermione?" he said tentatively.

"Ooooh, you used my first name!" she squealed, easily distracted.

"Yes, yes, but what did you just say?"

"That I don't like cabbage?"

"No! After that!"

"That I'm allergic to oranges?"

"_No!_ After that."

"I don't know," she pouted. "I'm sleepy."

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Draco crossed the length of the room, and before he even realised what he was doing, he grasped her face in his hands and kissed her. He registered her gasp, but couldn't move, too caught up in an overwhelming rush of emotion.

Two small hands locked onto his collar and pulled him closer, only leaving his shirt to stroke through his hair. And abruptly, as if the owner of the hands realised what she was doing, they circled right back around and shoved him away.

"The hell?" Hermione spat. Even drunk, she didn't appreciate her personal space being violated.

"What did you say, right before you fell asleep?" Draco insisted.

She blushed as she finally remembered. "I said it once, I'm not saying it again."

Draco started backwards, then a smirk crept onto his lips. "So, you 'kinda like' me, huh?"

"If you lord this over me, Malfoy…" she began threateningly, but her words slurred alarmingly and he couldn't make out the rest of the sentence. She promptly fell asleep and Draco left her there, thinking that this conversation would be better with a sober Granger.

The next morning, Hermione woke up with a splitting headache. The light from the lace curtains seemed to reach out and vindictively jab her in both eyes. Groaning, she slumped back onto the sofa, trying to make sense of the jumbled rush of memories.

Drinking Firewhiskey to prove Seamus wrong… getting drunk… dancing without music… _making out_ with Seamus… tripping in the dark corridor… somehow reaching her common room… snogging Malfoy…

Wait. Back up a bit?

She had snogged Malfoy.

She had _snogged_ Malfoy.

She had snogged _Malfoy_.

Or rather, he had snogged her, but… but…

"I am _never_ drinking again," she groaned. A light chuckle emanated from somewhere to her left and a vial was lifted to her lips. She drank the potion down, recognising the vile smell of Hangover Potion. Her headache began to clear immediately and she soon felt well enough to open her eyes. Malfoy was watching her, a smirk upon his lips.

"Anything you remember from last night?"

"I… know we snogged," she said hesitantly.

"And? Remember any… _confessions_, perchance?" he questioned evilly.

Hermione paled as the last part of her drunken speech echoed in her ears. _I kinda like you._

Oh, shit.

"So I was thinking, Potty and the Weasel wouldn't be too happy if they found out from someone that you wholeheartedly snogged a Malfoy…"

Hermione closed her eyes, waited for the next part of his blackmail.

"… so I say we go ahead and date publicly, that way they'll find out from you."

….

…

Had she heard right? "Pardon?" she asked politely.

"Be my girlfriend, Granger," he said patiently.

"For real?" she said suspiciously.

"For real," he promised. She gave him a quick once-over, and appearing satisfied, dug out a book from the bag at her feet.

"Fine."

"Oh, you are _not_ getting away with just one word," Draco growled, and pinning her to the sofa, he kissed her again, a long, soft kiss that tasted like happiness and Hangover Potion. When he pulled back, she looked a bit dazed.

"Now I'll ask you again. Be my girlfriend, Hermione."

"I'd love to," she said breathlessly. She collapsed into the sofa cushions, knowing that Harry and Ron would have to be told before the news got out.

Draco studied her face. "Whatever happens, happens. I'm fairly sure Potter will accept it and Weasley will blow up for a few days, but you know them better than I."

"Thirty seconds into our relationship and you're already the comforting boyfriend?" she teased, although it didn't entirely hide the worry in her eyes.

"You bet," he growled. One of his hands latched onto her wrist, pulling her down on top of him on the floor.

They kissed until they couldn't breathe.

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